Throughout the reign Germany has made it her constant policy to cultivate friendly relations with the United States. Chancellor von Bülow, in 1899, apropos of Samoa, said in the Reichstag: "We can confidently say that in no other country has America during the last hundred years found better understanding and more just recognition than in Germany." This is true of the educated classes, professional, professorial, and scientific; but the ordinary European German, who does not know and understand America, still displays no particular love for the ordinary American. At the same time he probably prefers him to the people of any other nation. American outspokenness in politics, for example, must be refreshing to minds penned within the limits of the Rechtstaat. He sees in them, too, millionaires, or at least people who come from a country where money is so abundant that, as many country-people still think, you have only to stoop to pick it up. When it comes to business, however, he is a little afraid of their somewhat too sanguine enterprise, and is given to suspect that a "bluff" of some sort is behind the simplest business proposition. Much of this, of course, is due to ignorance heightened by yellow journalism, for as a rule only the vastly interesting, but mostly untrue, "stories" regarding Germany printed in the yellow press come back to the Fatherland.
The German, again, is made uneasy by what he thinks the hasty manners of the Americans; he considers them uncivil. So, let it be admitted, they sometimes appear to be to people of other nationalities; but then as a rule Americans who jar on European nerves will be found to hail from places where life, to use the American expression, is "woolly," or too strenuous to allow of the delicacies of real refinement. The ordinary idea of the German in Germany, held by the stay-at-home American, is a vague species of dislike, founded on the conviction that the American, not the German, is the salt of the earth; that the German regard for tradition makes them a slow and slowly moving race; and that the Emperor as War Lord—for he is almost solely known to him in that capacity—must be ever desirous of war, in particular wishes to seize a coaling-station or even a country, in South America, and, generally speaking, set at naught the Monroe doctrine. The Governments on both sides, of course, know and understand each other better. In November, 1906, Prince Bülow publicly thanked America for her attitude at Algeciras, implying that it was due to her representative's conciliatory and reconciliatory conduct that the Conference did not end in a fiasco. "This," said the Chancellor, "was the second great service to the world rendered by America; the other," he added, "being the bringing about of peace between Russia and Japan."
A great deal of the increased intercourse between the two countries is due to the personal endeavours of the Emperor. What his motives are may be conjectured with fair accuracy from a general knowledge of his "up-to-date" character, the commercial policy of his Empire, and the events of recent years. He has a whole-hearted admiration for the American character and genius, so akin in many ways to his own character and genius; and if he refuses to recommend for Germans similar institutions to those in States, federated in a manner somewhat analogous to that of the kingdoms and States composing his own Empire, it is not from want of liberality of mind, but because they are wholly opposed to Prussian tradition, because his people do not demand them, and because he honestly believes that in respect of topographical situation, climate, historical development, and race feelings and sentiment, the safeguards and requirements of Germany are widely different from those of America.
As a young man he naturally had very little to do with America or Americans, though among his schoolboy playmates was a young American, Poulteney Bigelow, who afterwards wrote an excellent appreciation of the fine traits in the Emperor's character. At the same time the Emperor himself has stated that the country always interested him, and recent visitors bear out the statement fully. In 1889, a year after his accession, he expressed his admiration for America, when receiving the American Ambassador, Mr. Phelps. "From my youth on," the Emperor said,
"I have had a great admiration for that powerful and progressive commonwealth which you are called on to represent, and the study of its history in peace and war has had for me at all times a special interest. Among the many distinguished characteristics of your people, which draw to them the attention of the whole world, are their enterprising spirit, their love of order, and their talent for invention. The predominant sentiment of both peoples is that of affinity and tested friendship, and the future can only strengthen the heartiness of their relations."
More than twenty years have elapsed since the words were uttered, and the prediction has been fulfilled.
Scores of anecdotes, it need hardly be said, are current in connexion with the Emperor and American friends. One of them is that of an American, Mr. Frank Wyberg, the husband of a lady who, with her children, used often to visit Mr. and Mrs. Armour on their yacht Uttowana at Kiel, there met the Emperor, and was invariably kindly greeted by him. Mr. Wyberg was summoned with his friend, General Miles, to an audience of the Emperor in Berlin. Before going to the palace Mr. Wyberg went to a well-known picture-dealer in the city and bought a small but artistic painting costing about £1,000. He had the picture neatly done up, and carried it off under his arm to the hotel where he was to meet General Miles. As they were leaving for the palace the General asked Mr. Wyberg what he was carrying. "Oh, only a trifle for the Kaiser!" was the reply. The General was horrified, and tried to dissuade his friend from bringing the picture, telling him that the proper procedure was to ask through the Foreign Office or the American Embassy for the Emperor's gracious acceptance of it. Otherwise the Emperor would be annoyed, he would think badly of American manners, and so on. Mr. Wyberg, however, was not to be deterred, and insisted that it would be "all right." While waiting in the reception-room for the Emperor, Mr. Wyberg unwrapped the picture and placed it leaning against the wall on a piano. By and by the Emperor came in, and almost the first thing he said, after shaking hands, was to ask what the presence of the picture meant. Mr. Wyberg explained that it was a mark of gratitude for the kindness the Emperor had shown his wife and children at Kiel. The Emperor smiled, said it was a very kind thought, and willingly accepted the gift. The story has a sequel. A day or two after a Court official called at the hotel, to get from General Miles Mr. Wyberg's initials, and after another few days had passed reappeared with a bulky parcel. On being opened the parcel was found to consist of a large silver loving-cup, with Mr. Wyberg's name chased upon it, and underneath the words, "From Wilhelm II."
Another anecdote refers to an American naval attaché, a favourite of the Emperor's. Dinner at the palace was over, and the attaché, wishing to keep a memento of the occasion, took his large menu card and concealed it, as he thought, between his waistcoat and his shirt. Unfortunately, when taking leave of the Emperor, the card slipped down and part of it became visible. The Emperor's quick eye immediately noticed it. "Hallo! H——," he exclaimed; "look out, your dickey's coming down!" The story shows the Emperor's acquaintance with English slang as well as his geniality.
The Emperor seems to take pleasure in displaying himself to Americans in as republican a light as possible, and when he desires the company of an American friend, stands on no sort of ceremony. The American's telephone bell may ring at any hour of the day or evening, and a voice is heard—"Here royal palace. His Majesty wishes to ask if the Herr So-and-So will come to the palace this evening for dinner." On one occasion this happened to Professor Burgess. The telephone at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin rang up from Potsdam about six in the afternoon, and there was so little time for the Professor to catch his train that he was forced to finish his dressing en route. Or the invitation may be for "a glass of beer" after dinner, about nine o'clock.
If it is a dinner invitation, the guest, in evening clothes, with his white tie doubtless a trifle more carefully adjusted than usual, drives or walks to the palace. He enters a gate on the south side facing the statue of Frederick the Great, and under the archway finds a doorway with a staircase leading immediately to the royal apartments on the first floor. In an ante-room are other guests, a couple of Ministers, the Rector Magnificus of the university, and perhaps a "Roosevelt" or "exchange" professor; and if the party is not one of men only, such as the Emperor is fond of arranging, and the Empress is expected, the wives also of the invited guests. Without previous notice the Emperor enters, an American lover of slang might almost say "blows in," with quick steps and a bustling air that instantly fills the room with life and energy, and showing a cheery smile of welcome on his face. The guests are standing round in a half or three-quarter circle, and the Emperor goes from one to the other, shaking hands and delivering himself of a sentence or two, either in the form of a question or remark, and then passing on. When it is not a bachelors' party, the Empress comes in later with her ladies. A servant in the royal livery of red and gold, on a signal from the Emperor, throws open a door leading to the dining-room, and the Emperor and Empress enter first. The guests take their places according to the cards on the table. If it is a men's party of, say, four guests, the Emperor will seat them on his right and left and immediately opposite, with an adjutant or two as makeweights and in case he should want to send for plans or books. On these occasions he is usually in the dark blue uniform of a Prussian infantry general, with an order or two blazing on his breast. He sits very upright, and starts and keeps going the conversation with such skill and verve that soon every one, even the shyest, is drawn into it. There is plenty of argument and divergence of view. If the Emperor is convinced that he is right, he will, as has more than once occurred, jestingly offer to back his opinion with a wager. "I'll bet you"—he will exclaim, with all the energy of an English schoolboy. He enjoys a joke or witticism immensely, and leans back in his chair as he joins in the hearty peal about him. When cigars or cigarettes are handed round, he will take an occasional puff at one of the three or four cigarettes he allows himself during the evening, or sip at a glass of orangeade placed before him and filled from time to time. When he feels disposed he rises, and having shaken hands with his guests, now standing about him, retires into his workroom. A few moments later the guests disperse.